


Mollycoddle Search

by rice_and_radish



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Gaster Sans - Character - Freeform, Multiple Deaths, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rice_and_radish/pseuds/rice_and_radish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And the small buttercup cries. It cries into the snowy forest as the wind threatens to pluck it off the ground. For years the buttercup has cry, but sadly, nobody came. </p>
<p>The Evergreen watches the buttercup shudders in the cold blizzard. It wanted to help. For so long, it wants to offer the small golden bloom its massive shade but stays firm with its belief. 'The buttercup needs to learn,' it grunts sternly.</p>
<hr/>
<p>In which the world resets, and G blames it on Chara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mollycoddle Search

It’s so warm.

They remember dying. It’s so quiet, dark and still. Painful, even. Whenever they think of that, Asriel's laughter easily lightens their mood, like it always did. They still couldn't get over how much he bawl at their return— as an incorporeal entity, that is.

They expect the deathly silence; however, they’d never thought this would be a part of their experience. Death is supposed to be a sort of release, isn't it? Not joy, with a brother whom they'd trust and adore, sitting in the darkness on top of their grave.

Maybe, this is their ‘heaven’.

Frisk is gone. They are satisfied. Happy, with their ‘ending’. No more games, no more quips and japes with the monsters.

They should be happy, too, shouldn't they? They did their part of their redemption. Learn a thing or two from this, and that’s it, right? Of course, they hear them-self say. They should be happy, and content. Despite Asriel had turn back into his flora persona, they could still tolerate with that. They could still accept him for who he is, no matter how salty and bitter he turns out. Not even his ignorance of their presence could shake their faith on him.

But it keeps repeating, that’s the problem.

Every day, Flowey would crouch in the darkness, and they will be there; doing nothing but to watch their once sibling frustrates over Frisk's choice, over his own choice, because of his inability to understand what _they_ don’t understand. It feels alone. They are both there but it feels so alone. So quiet. Like the void.

They might as well be left dead.

* * *

He’s unsure.

Something is wrong. There’s still a rift. An ‘anomaly’. A threat that will take all of this away. His happiness, his relief, his ‘happy ending’. No matter where he goes, which universe he alters, which time he tampers, there will always be a barrier. 

He remembers; ‘he’s behind this. At the very beginning, it was him. He did all of this. If I just stop him, I can keep all of this, right?’

‘No...? It’s not him?’

Beads of sweat trickles down his dome- no. Not sweat. He is melting, literally. ‘Okay; gotta calm down…’ he sighs.

‘Then who? Who’s behind this?’

Before he even realize it, it happens.

“No. No, no, no, no, no. Not now! No! I'm not done yet!” His surroundings shifts to white, as well as his physical form. His hand reaches out, to an image, a person; a monster. “Stop!” he begs. “Toriel!”

* * *

A hand, they blink. White, pale, smooth hand shoots down and take theirs.

No, wait. These are actual bones. Phalanges, wrap around their limp hand, and pull them out of the ground, out of the void. The light blinds their eyes, as oxygen course through their body like poison.

Wait, oxygen?

They can breathe?

“You.” They hear a man growl. Perhaps, this is one of their nightmares. Where it would end with them finally resting in the underground.

“Get up.” This man’s voice sounds different. They blink, still blinded by the light. “I know it’s you, Chara.” The voice speaks in tones they’re very familiar with. Be it when they were alive, or dead. Surface, or Underground.

They blink twice, and notices the vast, white emptiness around them, save for the buttercups and a few scattered stars of save points. The man— no, not man. A monster— scowls at them, or is it a natural expression? They couldn’t tell. He looks awfully familiar. “Get up,” he commands, again. Holding out his palm and urge them to hold him. Their legs are shaky and they woke up in a strange place, but to hold hands with a stranger sounds even weirder.

They don’t want any help. Not from Sans. Not anymore.

He scowls, retreating his hand back into his pocket. He’s wearing jeans now? And grew taller? What happened when they were dead?

“Where am I?” they ask, taking no mind to Sans’s lookalike. He turns around; “Welcome to the ‘Rift’. Or ‘Void’, if you prefer that term better. Where Underground, maybe even the entire world, have finally collapsed because of you and that flower; tampering with time and space.”

They don’t believe him. They haven’t gone out of their grave since Frisk left the Underground. And they hadn't played with resets; not since Flowey had preached to them. “I didn't do it. Not even Flowey,” they answer briefly, suddenly feeling a strange tightness in their throat. Now that they realized it, flowers had bloomed everywhere on their body. Some could even be in their mouth.

Sans- or Gaster, if Chara is sure enough to compare the two- scowls deeper, showing clear indications of his disbelief to their word. “Don’t lie to me, kid. I know what you can do; save, load, reset, whatever term you wanna call this thing- it’s all just a game to you, isn’t it? Just a huge game made for you to play, again and again, without thinking about the consequences.” Their tongue feels as if it is tied into a knot. They can't speak or defend them-self from this monster's exclaims.

When they don’t answer, he continues; “Look, I don’t know what messed up stuff you've seen back there, but it can’t be the thing that keeps you goin’, know what I mean? It has to stop. _This_ has to stop. Chara. Kid, look at me.” His hand feels cold on their shoulder, and the grip can even be called a death grip. Those red pupil-like lights bores through their wet ones. Firm and steely gaze meets their broken, scared one.

“Everyone wants to go home. Everyone wants to live their lives happily, even me. And you can help your Mom, Dad, Asriel, and everyone by leaving them be. They won't forget about you, but they have to look at other things, too.”

Their hands clench the hem of their shirt. The fabric is so old, it is teared at the slight dig of their nails. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t press reset this time. I don’t know what happened.” Their voice wavers. They are scared, alone for centuries, and suddenly Sans comes back to preach to them, telling them to ‘stop’. Telling them to leave.

Before they knew it, their cries echoes through the Rift.

* * *

If there’s one thing G isn't good at, that’d be taking care of people crying.

He busies himself with preparing dinner- lunch? - breakfast? - He doesn't know. Time doesn't even matters here on the Rift. Not when everyone is gone.

Chara’s soft sniffs can be heard in the living room. Their eyes are puffy, nose runny and constantly in need of tissues, voice in endless whimpers. For quite a long time, he’d depict Chara as the strong, silent type. Rather as a ‘Don’t slow me down’ kind of kid. Not at all like the curious, friendly Frisk.

“Don’t talk to me,” sulk Chara, hiding further into their blanket. Man, they even _talk_ like her. He places the bowl of instant noodle on the table.

“Whenever you’re ready, kid,” he sighs. They’re just as stubborn.

* * *

“Ow!” they cry.

“Just one more,” he assures. Holding one last golden flower on their neck. The flowers did grow inside them. “Ready?” His voice wavers. The kid has been yelping and yapping at him to be careful so much, even he is afraid to pluck more of it.

“Yes. Make it quick.” Their hands are shaking, and blood leaks from the plucked areas. They covered in so much bandages, they could surpass them-self as a mummy monster. Their hands hold tight on his bony arm, eyes shut and teeth clench. G finally plucks it off with a swift pull, and they stifle a cry.

“Done.” The wastebasket is filled with buttercups and other unwanted patches of bandages. He swats their hand when they try to scratch it. “You’ll tear the skin,” he warn, but they don’t listen. They pick the skin, and tear it off as he turn his back on them.

How many days has it been since they’d been dug out from their grave? Three? Four? Rest assured, G told them it’s been a week. Yes; G is what he insist them to call him from now on. It sounded ridiculous, they told him, but he ignores them. He doesn't allow them to call him other than that. He said he’s not **him** anymore. He is them.

The True Lab is even quieter when the Amalgamates are gone. It’s not even cold anymore, now that the temperature has been tampered with. Even a flimsy little hospital gown is enough for them to keep warm.

“So,” he begins, pulling a chair and sits in front of them, a roll of bandages in one hand and another on their neck. “Ready to talk?”

They blink; ‘what is there to talk about?’ they want to ask. There are a lot of things they want to say and ask, but it all seems fuzzy. Too much for both of them to see, and wonder. “Yes,” they answer anyway. If they don’t know, they could always bullshit through this. Though, giving a vague answer to G might seem a little dangerous. "Okay. Let's start when did you have this resetting power. You _are_ the one that does that, right? You, and... that flower."

G nods for them to continue, as he treats the wounds; “Yes. Asriel and I are the ones that tampers with time and space. We reset, save and load. I, however, obtain this ability when Frisk fell down, whereas Asriel attain it when he returned.” It’s still vague, but mostly the truth. G doesn't seem convinced.

“Okay. And when did he ‘returned’?”

They are confused. Didn’t Alphys say anything about Flowey? What he can do and who he was or is? Even after the ‘happy ending’, did she still refuse to tell him? Not even the King? G doesn’t appreciate their expression and silence; “Tell me.” Lately, there’s been a lot of secrets he’d missed.

“Asriel is Flowey, did you not know? Alphys brought him back to life with ‘determination’. Despite not having a soul and has the determination to live, it grew until it became a crazed curiosity, until it ended where the whole Underground is empty. For more than one occasion.” Perhaps Asriel is the prophesied Angel that the Underground anticipates.

G stills, hand freezes on their bandaged neck. They wonder how much more he can take before that hand grips them and takes them to meet death for the second time.

“Who else knows about this? Other than Alphys, and you.” He can’t be angry with them, he has no reason to. Yet, he looks outrage.

“The King. Although, I’m more surprised this hasn’t been ring to you yet. What really happened, Sans? I thought what you’d projected is ‘all for show’. Merely a concealment. Just a prevention from the real side effect—“

Their words are cut short when G’s hand grips their neck, exactly like they’d anticipated. They feel satisfied.

“How did you know? Nobody’s supposed to know about this.”

“Well… ‘Nobody’…” they sigh weakly. “…did a fairly good job on finding it out. It’s not really that difficult—“

“Shut up.“

“It is _your_ impatience and curiosity that lead you to _this_ , Gaster. I am merely an audience, a spectator to your—“

They really can’t breathe. All that comes out are gasps, sharp intakes of air, and desperation to breath. They can see G’s teeth grinds in anger, the light in his socket burns bright red, with a flicker of cyan. Both of his hands are now on their neck, suffocating them, and urge them to meet the darkness. But they don’t mind. This is what they want. They are curious to how he might act when he’s angry, when they die. Curious if they can cheat death, yet again.

And he fulfilled their wish.

* * *

They hear a laughter.

“Come on, Chara. I can barely feel that hit.” They hear Asriel. They shiver at the cold, the gown does nothing to protect them from the mellow blizzard. Moreover, they’re surprised at how mature Asriel sounded.

‘Where am I,’ they wonder. Looking around the area, it’s definitely the forest of Snowdin. Chara trudges deeper, to the sound of Asriel’s proud bark. He sounds as if he’s taunting someone. Probably ‘Chara’. And they are more surprised to see the other version of themselves.

This Asriel is far different from the one they knew. He’s twice more menacing, and his eyes promised death. One of his horns is damaged and his fangs are what sticks to them most. The usual baby teeth that was once too soft to bite down even a slice of pie had grown into a weapon. One bite, and it’s lethal for them. Scars adorns his cheeks; not even his white fur can hide those nasty gashes.

Crouching down in front of him, is them. Chara holds a knife in one hand and a chain connects them. Their eyes are similar to the original Chara, the Chara hiding behind the tree, yet theirs are much darker and angrier than the classic Chara could ever imagined them to be. They’re wearing a muzzle; and they shiver once more. Fear, perhaps? This Chara wears a vaguely similar jacket to G’s, minus the blaster symbol and the excessive fur.

Asriel hold his paw up for them to pause. “Stop,” he commands. Classic Chara scowls to how obedient they are to Asriel’s words. “We’re not alone.” He has a sword, now that they’d noticed. A sabre, similar to the one that they’d seen some time, long ago. “Keep your eyes peel. I can tell this one’s not a monster.”

Chara, the original, is ready to run, but afraid they will be hunted immediately. Ever so slowly, they shift to the next tree, careful not to get caught. It’s going well, for a while, until they feel a rough hand on their shoulder. They scream at the sudden contact, and shock to see it is G. “There you are.” They couldn't tell if he’s annoyed or feeling something else.

“There!” they heard a shout, and G responds immediately. His hand grabs theirs and they sprint through the dense forest, ignoring the harsh wind blowing their face. Fire spits into their direction; it takes Chara a while to see it was Asriel who’d thrown it.

“Take them down!” he commands again. Chara, the dark and more menacing Chara, blocks their path, holding the knife like a trained fighter. It would’ve look cool if their lives weren’t being threatened. Dark Chara’s eyes locks with classic Chara. They exchange stares for a moment, until G summons his attacks to them.

They swiftly dodge, and they return his attack, but exchange it to them. Dark Chara hurls straight to their smaller counterpart, and plunges the knife into them; as if they are their target all along. They feel a hand on their forearm, and hear a blast. But everything else goes dark, as blood flows out of their system.

* * *

G’s hands loosens around their neck, as Chara immediately fills their lungs with air. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but they don’t take mind of his half-baked apology; still shock from the fact they practically saw their own self, and killed _them_.

“What happened?” they rasp, eyes wide and a hand clenches on their chest.

“Well, without further complications, you killed yourself. I mean, you did see how that goes, right?” His tone. It sounds strange.

They’re quiet, numb and dumbstruck about what happened. Of all their times in the void, learning things and mastering their controls on timelines, never had they seen a gateway to another world with their own eyes. Much less, another version of them-self. However, what struck to them the most is how G found them back there so easily.

“You knew about this,” say Chara, factually. “Of course, you would know. Or, if not wholly, one of you would.” They scoff. They could still feel the phantom of the stab on their chest, and the grip on their neck.

“I knew you were a smart kid. Glad I don’t have to explain it to you one by one,” he chuckles, however it’s a sore laughter. He is tired of doing this, they notice. He can go through rifts and worlds, but he can’t return home, that Is what they depict.

“You are able to communicate with other worlds, but I didn’t know you could transport yourself into one. Much less, settle in one of them.”

“I can’t. I can’t ‘transfer’ myself into another world. I can only see through the ‘gates’.” He pauses. “But you. _You_ can. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised by that.” He shrug, but they know he is. By the voice of his tone, they could hear it. They feel a little… superior, known by the fact they can do something Sans can’t. Not even monsters, not even humans.

G shifts to his tablework, pulling up papers one by one and examines through them; like how an adult would. Not that he’s not, but they prefer his fun character rather than this sour display. “I can’t make out the conclusions yet; just small theories and hypothesis. But, I figure out that you work like some sort of a barrier, a pin— so to speak, in these worlds.“

They’re quiet. Truth be told, they don’t understand how ‘worlds’ works, how all of this works. It looks more like a clumsy writer forgot how the storyline goes.

G, however, senses their confusion. He pulls a chair and crouches in front of them; making gestures as if they couldn’t understand even the simplest of explanation. “See, imagine you’re a slice of cheese. That cheese smells, and that smell stays when it’s been put out too long, right? At least, for a day or two. That’s how you work. When you were transfer to another world, you will stay there for a while, until something goes wrong. Per say, you were stabbed by your own counterpart, or dead.”

“And that is the way get out. By getting one killed,” they conclude. They decides that karma’s a bitch.

“And by getting in, you’re gonna have to get killed, first,” G finishes.

Silence fills the air. It feels heavy, even their shoulders slumps from it. All this time, they’d thought death is a onetime thing, a once-in-a-life-time experience. They had wished for death, and here it is. Wrapped in, with a bow on top, and ready for them to tear it open like a child on Christmas. And best of all, they get to experience it over and over again. Feeling that wonderful sense of déjà vu as they feel their body slowly goes limp.

They shoulders quiver. They couldn’t tell if they are crying or laughing, because what they feel is too bitter to be one of them. What comes out is merely chokes of laughter and sobs. Their hands tangles in their hair as their mouth widens for the chokes to clear itself out. But what comes out sounds like a mangled laughter. It grows, until it echoes through the empty hall, making the place even more eerie. G is soundless. He watch how they slouch on the bed, shaking and laughing like a mad man. He can’t do anything, even if he could. He just don’t know how. Papyrus never did this before.

“I deserved it,” they mumble once their laughter has ceased. “I am the cause of this. I inflict this pain to others— to Toriel, Asgore, Asriel, you— the least I could do is to die. I did that, for all of you; but I guess I have to do that all over again, because my first one isn’t enough. Leave. That’s what you want me to do, right? But I can’t even do that!” They laugh. “I’m so useless! Pathetic! I can’t even die! Can you believe that?” Their cackles echoes once again.

Their hands grabs G’s jacket, balling their fists and digging their nails into it. They could feel their face wet with tears, and possibly snot on their lips. But they don’t care. One chance for them to redeem their wrong-doings, and they feel like they failed it. 

Finally, their laughter ceases and their head feels heavy with aches, rest on G’s chest. What can they do? What can they both do? Nothing. It’s not in their power to change anything. In terms of physical and mental. And that fact alone makes both of them feel helpless.

“Will you be happy then?” they say, their voice sounds rough. “To watch me die over and over, since I can’t move onto the next one? Will everyone be happy by then?”

G takes his time on answering. And even if he can, it comes out as vague. “I… can’t answer that,” he sighs. His hands gently loosens theirs, and stands up. He’s not ready to deal with this, again. “Get some sleep.” The light flickers off, leaving them alone in the darkness, however this one is oddly comforting, but it’s still not enough to calm the storm in their heart. Everything feels heavy, and they set their head on the pillow, waiting for their sadness to bring them to sleep.

* * *

They eat, and G eats as well. He rarely does so in front of them, and when he does, it comforts them. The action itself; G eating. It calms them. A reminder that they’re not alone, for now.

“I think we should,” they chafe. Chara hasn't talked for so long, their own voice surprises them. Even G is startled with their suddenness.

These two week have been heavy, and tension is a slow thing to dissipate between them. G, being unknowledgeable in motherhood— or fatherhood, whichever is the case, were forced to use notes and memos to communicate with them. However, not even notes can bring Chara to talk.

“About what?” he ask. The clank of the plates somehow soothes them. It fills what is left between their silences.

“About searching for Frisk.” G is impressed by how someone who just came out of their grave could have bags under their eyes. But, then again, this is Chara.

“Oh, so you did read my notes.” He is relieved. Thank God, or not he will have to go through this with force. Which is to kill Chara forcefully, and find Frisk himself. But he won’t do that. He may be a lot of things, but a groundless murderer isn’t one of them.

Chara nods. “Do you really think Frisk is out there?” They almost sound hopeful. Maybe they are. Frisk is the one that teaches them the good and the bad, anyway. They are their partner.

“There’s a lotta Frisk out there. You have to be specific,” he tease. They could see his smirk.

Chara sighs; “You know which Frisk it is.” He chuckles. “So, where do you think they might be? There will be a lot of worlds and universes, and to find a single, particular Frisk will not be easy.”

He hummed, pouring more ketchup on his plate of spaghetti, until the whole plate is swimming in red dressing. They won’t judge that part of him. “We’ll find them. It’s gonna be hard, I'm not gonna lie, but we’ll find them.”

“And once we do, once we bring everything back, what will we do next?” Their words feels heavy on their tongue. Frisk is the key to bring this world back, but after that… Not even G knows. And he knows which ‘next’ they mean.

“I… I don’t know, kiddo. We’ll see what happen—“

“Are you going to kill me, once this is all over?” They look up, particularly to G’s sockets. They don’t know what are they hoping for, and frankly, so does G. He doesn’t know them, as they don’t know him. He returns their tired eyes with his own. If he’d known any better, their eyes could surpass as his. Red, beaten, with dark circles under them.

However, they’re not ‘kindred souls with the same motives’. Both just wants to go home. To a place where both are familiar and comfortable with. Maybe, after all of this is over, he’d invite them to Grillby’s.

“We’ll see,” he shrugs. They are still a mystery to him, as he is to them.

They chuckle, poking the cold spaghetti with their fork as they echo his words; “We’ll see.”

* * *

Not even the cold blizzard can beat the coolness of that blade. And that’s saying something, with the robe their mother once wore that they put on. Calculations were made, and all theories were confirmed. The only thing left is to actually do it.

“Ready?” he ask, clenches and unclenches the knife he hold. Never would he thought he will be the one who will do the stabbing.

“Make it quick,” they told him. The least he could do is to make it painless as possible.

G nods, making sure their gaze is in the front and the blade point to their heart. “Stay still.” He hears a gasp, a whimper. And they finally grow limp. G holds their body, watching red smears his jacket and arms, as the world shifts into a new one.

**Author's Note:**

> I inserted a few theories and extras in this story. Just in case you lil' nippers haven't heard of them, here's a list of them;
> 
> \- Sans has an excessive amount of determination, just like Undyne. And his way of coping it is much more mellow than hers.  
> \- The 'Player' is an unknown entity to the characters. Not even Chara, Flowey, Frisk, Gaster nor Sans knew about them. (Unless Toby has something to say about this)  
> \- Frisk is our avatar in this world. Our eyes and movements. And whatever they(we) do, affects everyone, especially Chara. Our teachings can be given through Frisk, and on the genocide run, Chara finally clicks that teaching in like a duck's mating call.  
> \- Narrator Chara  
> \- G!Sans x Chara. Not my mug of coffee, but hey, I'm not complaining.  
> \- Chara's age is unknown-able, and is up to the reader themselves.
> 
> This story's idea hasn't been broaden yet (with the limited time I have, not to mention my procrastination), so I can't promise anything. But if I were to have an idea, I'll make sure to update it, but as a different story, on a different perspective.


End file.
